Attempts to communicate with the Universe. Lettres à l’Univers et autres destinataires.

Quand j’ai reçu le truc, j’ai cru que vous nous faisiez le coup de la reprise des Bee Gees… Alors que pas du tout ! You rock! Ca fait tellement plaisir de vous voir vous éclater, fallait au moins ça. Bravo pour le clip, c’est la joie !

This is my horoscope for this week, brought to me by my favorite oracle, Rob Brezsny himself.

“Wisdom is knowing I am nothing,” said Indian philosopher Nisargadatta Maharaj. “Love is knowing I am everything. And between the two my life moves.” According to my calculations, Sagittarius, you’ll be more on the “knowing you are everything” side of the polarity for the next few weeks. That’s because a flood is imminent. I expect you’ll be on the receiving end of a massive outreach from the universe — an influx of invitations, inquiries, and offers to make connection. You should also be prepared for the dizzying pleasure that comes from seeing how profoundly interlinked and interdependent you are.

All I have to say is : Bring it on, my arms are open wide, and so is my heart. This (really cool) horoscope reminded me of my encounter, a little over a year ago, with a genius, right up the street from my place. And by genius, I don’t mean Einstein, I mean Ali Baba. Who was no genius but got one to do all the work for him.

I was standing on the rue des Martyrs, freezing my bum-bum off. And yes, for those of you dying to ask, I have a bum-bum. Once you have children, you have a variety of body parts with interesting names, and therefore not an ass, my friends, but a bum-bum. Frankly, what kind of a mother would I be, were I to sweet-whisper in my perfect, if somewhat temperamental child’s ear : “Honey love Clarisse, how about you moving that cute ass a little faster so your school principal doesn’t throw me out, uhuh?”.

I don’t think so.

So anyway, I was freezing my ass waiting for a bus, craning my neck and cursing politely its driver for being ever so late in its ever so usual way, when I heard someone say (in French, s’il-vous-plaît) : “Dites-moi quel est votre souhait le plus cher…” Meaning, for those who still have not spent enough time with me in Paris to becom fully bilingual, that someone was asking me what my number one wish might be. So I turned around, with an amused, yet circumspect look, wondering who was walking around granting wishes on a crisp January morning.

My genius was wearing an orange, as in very bright orange, overall suit. Kinda like a spaceman. And he had this huge excited smile on his face. He might have been in his forties, though I’m not sure at this point. And he was downright totally happy, and his happiness was downright infectious. So I smiled. And he repeated his question. I thought about it, trying to focus on my wish and not the freezing cold. I think he mentioned something about the fact he didn’t have all day and would I be so kind as to figure out my wish today, not tomorrow. I asked if I could get three wishes, like them stories I’ve read, and he politely blew me off, said wishes weren’t on sale, that granting me one was already a big deal. So I asked for love in my heart. He said “ok, I can do that, here’s your bus, have a great life and I’m glad I could be there for you”. Sure enough, the bus slowed down in front of me, I got on and looked back to see the orange spaceman waving bye bye to me. And that was that.

Now the thing is, my brain and my mind work in, uh, very strange ways. I think it’s probably so as to allow me many wild creative moments and incredible experiences that I seem to forget those moments and experiences as rapidly as they appear in my mental space. So I kinda forgot about my encounter with the Genius, until I read my horoscope, went to write in my blog, and found an old post draft from that day, which I’d never finished, never published. I remember smiling all day. I remember thinking, wow, maybe he’s a lunatic, but maybe, just maybe, he’s a genius. And how cool would it be for love to be in my heart…?

Well, I can’t say the last months have been easy, or that the last years haven’t been challenging, in an interesting way… but in the end, that’s what it’s all about, no? Could I be who and where I am today without love in my heart? I think everything I’ve recently experienced is the proof, if need be, that my orange genius out of a bottle has managed, as it should be, to grant my wish. So next time your bus, your subway, your ride is late, just keep your eyes and your mind open to raving lunatics.

Mad Love, Always,
MND

Bonjour bonjour Charlie, hop hop hop arrivée sur Terre en douceur, en une heure, il y a un mois. Ta mère, Fred, est une bonne copine, une amie, une de celles qui restent dans une vie, mais autant te dire que son p’tit tour de magie, hop hop hop, tiens je suis enceinte, hop hop hop, on s’est dit que tu ferais une bonne marraine (crise d’hystérie dans la rue, petite danse enthousiaste), hop hop hop, tiens je pousse, hop hop hop, naissance de la nouvelle divine enfant en une heure top chrono, j’ai un peu du mal à m’en remettre.

Sans blague. Qui pousse son premier bébé en une heure ? La question étant même, pourquoi j’ai pas mis une heure, moi, mais 12 ? Ou 24 ? Je sais même plus tellement c’était long. Je te passe les détails de pourquoi j’ai pas mis une heure, tu verras ça quand tu seras plus grande, et puis cette lettre a d’autres aspirations.

D’abord, faut-il te le dire, je suis très très heureuse d’être ta marraine. J’espère que tu auras joie à être ma filleule. Tes parents sont des très belles personnes, cultivées, originales, complexes, avec lesquelles tu auras plaisir à grandir au moins jusqu’à un certain âge parce qu’après, ça se complique. C’est plus que beaucoup d’enfants sur Terre, alors fais pas ta snobe. Ils sont beaux à l’intérieur et à l’extérieur (nonobstant les grimaces effrayantes de ton paternel), tu pars donc avec un ADN et un environnement positifs. D’accord, ta mère est allergique à tout, même le savon de Marseille hypo-allergénique de base, et ton père est dingue, mais ta mère a une sensibilité à fleur de peau, et ton père est dingue. Bon départ dans la vie, ça, Charlie.

On a tous besoin d’une marraine un peu carrée, terre à terre, organisée, équilibrée. Ca inspire sans empêcher de respirer, tu vas voir c’est hyper bien les marraines.

La mienne me fait des cadeaux surnaturels, rares et précieux depuis 30 ans (avant je me souviens pas, mais je soupçonne que mes extravagantes tenues, gamines, subtiles et chics à la fois, avaient un peu à voir avec elle). Pour exemple, son dernier cadeau c’est un maillot de bain (je crois, parce que c’est peut-être un ensemble lingerie). Deux pièces. En perles et paillettes brodées à la main. A l’effigie des Etats-Unis. Si je te dis que je peux maintenant me promener en Wonder Woman, version vintage 1974, ça devrait compléter le tableau. T’inquiète, je te le garde au chaud.

La mienne, de marraine, est tout le temps de bonne humeur, légère et joyeuse, même dans la détresse. Une fontaine de vie mélodique. Elle veut tout savoir, tout raconter, boire manger se promener, et elle a une impudeur pudique, toute artistique, qui donne envie d’être comme elle comme on sera grande. D’accord, ça fait 30 ans que ça dure (avant j’me souviens pas, j’t'ai dit), mais crois-moi, j’espère que je t’inspirerai autant de joie et de fous rires.

J’ai déjà prévu des grandes conversations philo-fondamentales. Alors, pour l’instant, y’a le sens de la vie (comment vivre alors qu’on sait qu’on va mourir, et par conséquent, salé ou sucré, le pop-corn ?), les interdits masculins (santiags, slips, gourmette), et comment les autres, et toi, c’est pas pareil, mais quand même, on est tous reliés, faut assumer.

Je t’aime déjà, Charlie bébé tortue, on va bien rigoler toutes les deux, j’en connais aussi un rayon ou deux, ouh laaaaa maybe trois ou 12, sur les garçons. T’inquiète, si j’ai rien dit, c’est pour par faire flipper tes vieux.

Bienvenue parmi nous, plus on est de fous…
Follement,
Ta MarraiNe

PS : mon blog version liftée m’empêche de coller ta photo cette fois, tu me remercieras plus tard, mais tu vas pas t’en sortir comme ça.

Trente ans. Sans blague, trente ans. 30. Je me souviens de toi bébé. Petit garçon. Avec des yeux plus grands que le monde. Un regard comme personne. Et aujourd’hui, le monde change à la vitesse de la lumière, mais ton regard est toujours plus grand que le monde, pareil à personne.

Je ne suis pas avec toi, mais je pense à ce jour, déjà sacré chez toi, chaque année, comme on le sait, mais qui revêt une importance toute particulière. Parce que trente ans, c’est l’âge, non pas de raison, mais de conscience, souvent.

Je te la souhaite heureuse, cette conscience, glorieuse, amoureuse, et joyeuse.
Je t’aime infiniment. Follement.

MN

I love you. I’ve missed you. Didn’t even realize how much really. So happy to be back. Remembering how generous my life is. How beautiful my friends are. How your light shines and glows and makes us feel alive and connected. Thanks. I’ll make a point of taking the feeling home and holding on to it. But for right now, I’ll just follow the flow, let myself go.
Mad Love, always,
MN

So there it is, your first media interview about Jarvis’ exhibition of himself, with you dancing and sharing your deep views on music. And you’re not even 4. And I don’t know the people who edited this, I had NOTHING to do with it, except for the fact I took you there of course, but how could we miss such an adventure… And I’m so psyched that the word “rock” keeps rolling out of your mouth, so psyched I’ve nurtured the little punk you truly are, I think I will go smother you with kisses right now. Ok, maybe not, it’s almost midnight and your wake-up mood is tooooo close to mine ;) 

I love you, punk bunny,

Your toc toc Mom.

I must say that witnessing your dancing and childcare talents today, during your session with the kids at Galerie Chappe, was an experience in itself. Add to that the thrill of watching Clarisse dance and shake her shaker, and you made my day!

This whole exhibition of yourself is quite something. Probably the closest to what an artist should be doing today, opening the spectrum and making whatever medium has been chosen an interaction with all other mediums. And Renkin’s photos are quite gorgeous. 

Next stop tomorrow, when I come at 3pm to attend the 5 Tibetan Yoga session I’ve managed to convince my instructor to teach! Finding myself with my feet behind my head with you guys playing live, man, that’s something I never had envisioned, despite my wild imagination… 

Mad Love,

MND

And it’s all livefed on www.jarviscocker.net.

People are unfortunately two-sided. Their divine love and light are coherced into sharing the space with a narrow impulse for survival, which itself is force-fed fear and paranoia by our sytem based on authority and power. And Conscience makes it harder to cope with that contradiction. 

Ok, I sound dramatic. But hey, what can I say, this is my belief. Human beings are taught to judge and accept judgement rather than rejoice for the miracle that life is. And when there’s a bunch of people together, and hierarchy, and power, as a means to serve an artistic end, well, of course, al hell can break loose, and hell can get tiring, unless you’re at an Arcade Fire or Polyphonic Spree concert. Or attending a church service, which I imagine has the same effect. To some extent. Connecting to something together and feeling the beauty and the hope and the vibrations of creative love, in hell and every where. Am I getting carried away here… ? Not even. 

So I guess that what you’re trying to keep up with the band and making music has everything to do with the opportunities to tap into that beauty. But yes, if you’re thinking about othert art forms, chances are you’re a little bored, or too atune to the music world to accept its humanity.

That said, Artaud performed entirely by children sounds like my kind of experience. Were you thinking of having them read the radiophonic poop/caca pages? Dreamy…

And THAT said, I’m thrilled you’re thinking of coming to check out Jarvis’ exhibition of himself in Paris Thursday, that’s the day I’m participating in the yoga class Jarvis and the band will be playing live to. Of course, it’s the Five Tibetans, my yoga intructor has accepted to take on the challenge :) Bring a yoga mat. Warm up on the Eurostar, the Tibetans are pretty physical. A little twirling will put your problems into perspective. And the gallery Chappe is walking distance from my home, so you can drop bags and what not if needed. Bring a yoga mat. Ha!

I’m supposed to leave that night for the country house. Need more writing done. So might not be around to take you around….. Let me know if you wish me to arrange for another chaperon.

Mad Love,

MN

I’ve just received an email from Amazon prompting me to buy Coraline. Which of course I own already, though it’s nice of them to care about my Neil Gaiman collection.

The funny thing is not that I’ve read it, loved it (not my favorite, but it’s wonderful, and I am thrilled Henry Selick made it into a movie). No, the funny thing is that I’ve joined Twitter in the last couple weeks, and that you’re my primary motivation to check in every hour or so, because you’re one of the most active twitterers today! I even got to send a little response to one of your posts, because yes, you’re the new Edgar Allan Poe allright… And less than 24 hours later, I found out you’d be in Paris for two days, with a book signing scheduled. 

Now I don’t know if I’ll have time to come and get a book signed, if only because I’m not really into that, but I like your writing so much I think I will try. That way I can tell my kid I met you when she grows up and becomes one of your readers in her own right.

American Gods, Neverwhere and Anansi Boys are brilliant. You’re weird. So weird that reading you is a jubilation, an experience that I find hard to define. Kinda like reading Poe. Or some of Maupassant’s peculiar novels.

Enjoy your stay in Paris, now, will you? And don’t stay locked up writing or reading in that hotel room of yours, even if I know how strong the temptation can be. Hey, if you don’t have any plans, I’ll even cook you dinner!

Meanwhile, I’ll just show Clarisse, my almost 4 year old, your pretty Blueberry girl video.

Yours madly,

MND

Ok, I’m on a roll, must be the week-long vacation of having nothing to do but clear my head of what might be obstructing the flow (and yes, one week was the bare minimum, but I gotta say it was effective).

And so I realized I have not shared my love for the band Yodelice. Considering Clarisse and I have been listening and singing to the advance preview of the upcoming record, every day for three or four months now (we’ve even got a few dance steps worked out to some of the songs, which we rehearse on the way to school), I think it’s a major faux-pas on my part.

Songs just came out on iTunes before the official release. They’re beautiful inside and out, as artists, and as human beings. Very simply put, I love them :)

Were this still NY, they’d totally be in the Collective, every month, and sharing our Sunday brunches…

I’ve posted two of their videos, one totally acoustic, stripped bare, with the band up in a tree, and the one an animation piece created by artistic director Bastien Duval. That way you guys get two sides of the multi-facetted Maxim Nucci (band leader) and friends.

There’s also one directed by our busy pal Guillaume Canet, which is rather eery and poetic, but the record company made it private, ie it can’t be embedded on blogs, which is just pathetic and so representative of record companies’ small minds, but of well, they’ll get it one day ;)

By the way, I’ll be in NY May 17-25. Let me know who’s around !
Mad Love from MN